A Marriage of Truer Minds
by Leafey
Summary: He followed the list of names, like a prison scentence, with his index finger. He knew some of them, others he had heard of, but he stopped abruptly when he came to hers. It had to be a mistake, but there she was, in black and white. Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

**A Marriage of Truer Minds **

Authors Notes: Please forgive the use of sonnet 116, I simply couldn't resist:)

Disclaimer: If only they belonged to me. . . alas

Chapter One:

England was just as miserable as he remembered. It was cold and grey and rained almost constantly. It was a stark and jarring contrast to the Mediterranean, where Draco had been spending the majority of the last five years. He already missed the azure sea and the white sand, and most of all the sun, which was something he had grown accustomed to. After his parents deaths, there really wasn't anything left for him here. He had no other family to speak of, no real friends, and spent very little time here. He had come back three or four times to see the family attorney and to tend to the Malfoy accounts, but his visits were brief and he always stayed in a townhouse in London.

While he was away, he didn't squander his time or inheritance. He may have been many things, but foolish wasn't one of them. He stayed mainly on a sparsely populated island on the coast of Spain, where his family owned a villa, but he spent time in France, South America, and other parts of Europe conducting business on behalf of the Malfoy estate. He bought and sold property and businesses, and found that he had a knack for investing in companies that would eventually thrive. He did anything and everything to keep himself occupied so he didn't have to think to long or hard about his parents or the grief that still clung to him. The Mediterranean and business were therapeutic for Draco. They allowed him to take in the sun and sea, and to flex his sense of industry.

When he arrived in England he quickly found that Malfoy Manor was literally falling apart. It surprised him, really, that it could fall into such disarray in such a short period of time. He still saw it in his memory as pristine and flawless, the epitome of his childhood. That it could become so rundown in five years was an anomaly to him. The Manor was centuries old and had withstood the Goblin revolution and the invasion of the Dark Lord. But rundown, it was. The roof was leaking in several places and had ruined a priceless Parisian rug in the drawing room, acquired during the fifteenth century. The grounds were overgrown with vicious brambles and blackberries and the peacocks had bred and now ran wild through the guesthouse. There were doxies in the chimneys and crows nesting in the guest suite. The elf almost cried in relief when she realized that Draco had returned. The house had all but waged war against her.

His father would spin in his grave if he could see how the estate had become so derelict. His mother would cry if she saw the conservatory, where she took her afternoon tea, overrun with garden gnomes. He knew he would immediately need to set this right. As soon as his meeting with Graham, the Malfoy attorney, was finished he would see to hiring a groundskeeper. Until then he would send another elf to assist in clearing the gnomes and doxies out, at least.

Graham worked in an office hidden in Muggle London, and had actually called him back to England. Draco was surprised to get his letter, but Graham was very insistent, claiming it was of the top most priority, but not telling Draco _why_. Draco had been dimly planning a trip anyway, to see to the Manor and to conduct some other small affairs, but was thinking possibly in the spring.

Traveling to muggle London was uncomfortable, although his town home was not far away, although more secluded, but his father had thought very highly of Niles Graham and so Draco kept him on after his parent's deaths. To reach his office, you had to walk into a muggle coffee café and tap three times on the second stall door in the men's room to enter his lobby. His secretary, an aging blonde witch with robes that stretched across her bosom, showed him back straight away and offered him tea.

"Young Mister Malfoy," he beamed. "I almost thought I was looking at your father! Please have a seat!"

The mention of Draco's parents, particularly his father, often gave him a tight feeling in his throat. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and sat in crushed velvet, straight-backed chair.

Graham was a balding, middle-aged wizard with the worst comb-over Draco had ever seen. But he had kept his family out of Azkaban on several occasions, so at least his legal prowess was in tact. He shuffled some papers on his desk and took a more serious expression.

"Well," he said, now somber. "I'm sure you know why I called this meeting?"

"No," Draco admitted, "I don't. Is it regarding the property in South America? I understand their government is making life difficult for foreign land owners."

"No, Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid it's regarding the Marriage Decree. I have a letter from the Ministry, ordering you to choose a bride. It seems that you did not receive their summons last month."

There was a ringing silence. Draco actually cocked his head to one side, as though he had misheard him.

"Come again?"

Graham donned his spectacles and extracted a scroll from the top drawer of his desk, which he then unrolled.

"The Marriage Edict, Mister Malfoy." He reiterated. "I'm afraid to say that your number has come up, so to speak."

"I don't understand," he said flatly.

"Well," Graham said, shuffling yet more paper and finally extracting another. "You haven't responded to their requests to come to the Office of Magical Matrimony and Reproduction Office. This is unfortunate, of course, because then you may have had some more influence in the choosing of your intended. I took the liberty of writing a letter on your behalf, explaining that you have been out of the country. So," he continued, "They have consented to giving you a list of pre-selected witches who have no biological ties to the Malfoy family. They have granted you one week from yesterday to choose and speak to a witch from the list. I have copies of the original summons, of course"

He handed a scroll to Draco, who stared at him unmoving.

"Are you drunk Graham?" He finally said. "What are you on about? Is this a practical joke? Because if it is, I don't have to pay you to call me to London unexpectedly to have a laugh! I'm not exactly sitting on my hands while I'm abroad!" He was positively livid. "I had to reschedule two important meetings to come to England at all! I can't believe father thought so well of-"

"Mister Malfoy!" Graham had to raise his voice to be heard. "I assure you this is not a joke!"

"What?" Draco's ears were red and he was breathing hard.

"Haven't you been keeping up with current affairs? Do you truly not know about the Marriage Decree?"

"I canceled my subscription to the Daily Prophet!" Draco snapped. "It's nothing but a rag that drug my family name through the mud."

"I see. Well, in your absence a law has been passed forcing young witches and wizards to wed and produce children. The magical population has suffered since you've been gone. Procreation has dropped down 50%, not to mention the losses of the war."

"They can't do that!" he erupted. "It's barbaric!"

"I agree," Graham said sagely. "But they have. Here," he brandished a scroll at Draco. "This is your list of pre-selected witches. It was really all I could do, and I had to pull some strings. Take it home tonight and look it over. You should really have your pick though. All of these witches are not yet spoken for and any of them would jump at the chance to marry a Malfoy, I have no doubt."

"You don't expect me to actually choose a wife from a list?" Draco exclaimed.

"I wish there were other options-"

"Well I won't do it!" he pronounced. "What can they do?"

"Arrest you, for one thing." Graham said. "Strip away the Malfoy holdings, freeze your assets, snap your wand, the list goes on. The Ministry is taking a hard stand on this law, Mister Malfoy. It would really behoove you comply and look over your list of brides. Most young witches and wizards do not have as many options and have to file injunctions if they have been married within the last year, to keep the edict from dissolving their union."

Draco felt himself pale. This was a catastrophe, worse than that, really. Heads would roll if his father were still alive. As it was, he wished he were here to consult with. If he were, Draco was almost positive they wouldn't have passed this sham of a law in the first place. Which buffoon brought this idea to fruition? He couldn't even blame this on Potter, though they disagreed on nearly everything, not even he would stand for this.

They spoke for a while longer about the options, each one as horrible or unlikely as the last. The bottom line was, that with the decrease in population they were facing extinction, to which the Ministry had taken action. He finally tucked the scroll and several other papers away in his brief case and bid Graham a good day, numbly promising to return when he chose his future wife.

The town home was dark and cold upon his arrival, and he remembered that he had sent the other elf to assist at the Manor. Draco felt anesthetized and drained, as though he had aged ten years upon his arrival to England.

He stared at the unopened scroll on his roll top desk as though it were poison. He hadn't even looked at it yet, fearing the worst. There were so many questions he had now that he had left Graham. Were these witches even his age? Had they gone to school with him? How long did they have before they were supposed to marry? How long before they would be forced to produce a child? How would the ministry know if they were even doing it? For all they knew, they could be infertile. What would they do; send someone to watch? In the morning he would have to take action and find a bride, hopefully not a mudblood or a gold-digger. What a mess.

He thought vaguely about getting pissed at the Leaky Cauldron, which was only three blocks north, but dismissed it almost instantly. Drinking in public was crass and beneath him. It was tantamount to airing one's dirty laundry. Instead he poured himself a tumbler of cognac and fell into a dragon hide armchair with his business robes still on. He hadn't thought of anything but death and business since he left the country almost five years ago. Marriage hadn't even crossed his mind. Firstly, he had met no one with whom he felt an emotional connection. There had been a few women who had taken him home, but he was always gone by morning, always held them at an arms length. They were whores anyway, mudbloods probably. In any case, a family wasn't a notion he entertained. His own parent's deaths had been so sudden, so devastating, that Draco filed the idea of a family somewhere between flobberworms and indigestion.

After his second glass of brandy, he withdrew his wand from his robes and summoned the scroll of names with a flourish. It sailed smoothly across the room and Draco broke the seal.

Cecelia Andrew's

Hannah Abbot

Allison Bulstrode

Cassandra Burke

Ivy Creevey

A list of names lay before him like a warped prison sentence. He knew some of them and had heard of others, and some were unfamiliar all together. He traced his fingertip down the ink. He had gone to school with some of them, some were siblings of schoolmates as well. He followed the list of names with his index finger until one stood harshly out to him, as though it didn't belong there at all. He was sure she would have married a Weasley, even if Ron was dead, Draco would wager that there were a hoard of other Weasley's prepared to take his place. Her name may as well have been written ten times larger than any of the others, for he couldn't take his eyes off of it. He briefly went back to his original thought that this was an elaborate prank of Graham's. There were plenty of people in England that didn't like him, he knew he was very unpopular after the conclusion of the last war. Surely some of these people would think it was hilarious to lure him back and laugh as he proposed to half of the witches in London. But something told him things had changed since he was last here. He had taken a stroll through Diagon Alley on his way back from Graham's and had noticed a frenzied energy. Young witches were crowded in groups, some of them crying, but they were all whispering frantically. Something had obviously changed. Was it his imagination that every clothing store seemed to have ivory gowns in the windows? This had to be real, and so was her name on _his_ list. He stared at it again; to be sure he was in fact seeing it as clear as day, as clearly as he knew his own name.

_Hermione Granger._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Authors note:** Because every good Hermione/Draco story needs a ball scene . . .

Chapter two

Cecelia Andrew's was a squib, and therefore exempt from the law after she had proven her lack of magical ability. Hannah Abbot was set to marry that nincompoop, Neville Longbottom, and Allison Bulstrode was a relative of Millicent Bulstrode and blessedly sterile from a bad bout of Dragon Pox during childhood, and therefore also immune from the law.

It had been nearly two days since Draco's meeting with Niles Graham and something akin to panic was beginning to set in. It was past one in the afternoon and he had ventured out of the townhouse for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. His elf was still in Wiltshire, and Draco wasn't much of a chef. He could fair reasonably well for a bachelor, he was able to make an egg or a sandwich, but his father had always discouraged such domestic pursuits. In any case, he was growing tired of turkey on rye.

It was a clear yet frigidly cold Friday in February and there was talk of snow in the forecast. The Leaky Cauldron was slow, the lunch rush was past and Draco watched a harried looking older woman rush through and enter Diagon Alley at one point, but that was the height of the excitement. This suited Draco just fine. Although an exciting new business enterprise while he was abroad, in England he was still ostracized in most circles. If there was a good point to the Marriage Decree, it was that the derision of the wizarding community was aimed elsewhere when he was in public. He ordered a pint and a Rueben sandwich, which he found dry but edible, and thought about his prospects as he ate.

He wished he had time to hire a private investigator to research these witches for him, but he had only three days left to satisfy the edict or go to prison . . . or live with the muggles. One choice seemed as unpleasant as the next, but loath though he was to admit it, the idea of marriage wasn't less inviting than prison. He was on a deadline and knew he had to do something very soon. He had spent the last forty-eight hours researching his prospective brides.

He assumed Cassandra Burke was of some relation to Caractacus Burke, and possibly from old money. But when he investigated he found out that she was attractive enough, but nearly forty and highly sought after by men her own age, also subjected to the Edict. This wouldn't do. He was out of pure and even half blood options and was quickly coming to the realization that he may need to consider _muggleborns._

Ivy Creevey was the younger sister of Colin and Denis Creevey, and muggleborn. He found it strange that so many children in one muggle family should turn out to have the magical gene. It was more likely that their mother or father was one of them, or even a squib, which had turned away from the magical world. Even if Ivy weren't still a student at Hogwart's, she would never have him, he was pretty sure that his aunt had killed both of her brothers.

He knew that Hermione Granger hated him, and she had good reasons to. He was jealous of her in school and treated her cruelly because of it. He had always had. His conviction, learned at his father's knee, about muggleborns and their place in society and Hogwart's, had been a driving force in his adolescence. Hermione Granger had the bad luck of epitomizing the threat muggles posed in Lucius' eyes and therefore invoked every detestable insult Draco could muster. If she hadn't been so bloody brilliant, if she hadn't outshone him at everything she applied herself to, had she not been the best friend of "The Chosen One" and the brain box of their schemes he might have ignored her. But he wasn't the only one who noticed her achievements; Lucius had seen them too and commented on it frequently.

He hated her and her lot until he was fifteen. That's when his father was shipped off to Azkaban and the Dark Lord took over Malfoy Manor. Things went south then and it was a slippery slope. He didn't have time to think about muggles or mudbloods or their influence in the wizarding community. Survival became his first priority.

It wasn't until much later that he acknowledged his attraction to Hermione Granger. On the one year anniversary of the battle of Hogwart's there had been a ball that the Malfoy's had funded in an effort to repair their standing in society, and have the remaining charges against them dropped. It was a grand affair, held at Malfoy Manor. The irony of holding a celebratory ball for the resistance of Voldemort in the home that was his head quarters was not lost on Draco. Kingsly Shaklebolt was in attendance, along with the surviving members of the Order of the Pheonix, Aberforth Dumbledoore, and the whole lot of the Ministry of Magic. His mother had a horde of party planners and elves working around the clock on the foyer for a month, which became a grand ballroom once transformed. The gardens were lit with live fairies and an orchestra was playing on the veranda. There was champagne to go around, and everyone was in high spirits, save Draco.

When Harry Potter arrived, the dancing stopped and everyone stared with unrepentant curiosity. There was even a dip in the playing of the instruments. Ginny Weasley was on his arm, and the rest of the entourage followed closely behind. Neville Longbottom was among them along with Luna Lovegood, wearing a circular of leaves and a hoop skirt, a pretty girl in a plum colored gown, and hoard of Gryffindors which had all come together. He did not see Hermione Granger or the red headed mouth-breather.

At his father's prompting Draco went to shake hands with Potter. He snaked through the crowd of onlookers and his left foot was stepped on twice before he reached him.

"Potter," he said curtly. He extended his hand and nodded his head once.

The flashbulbs of the press went off with blinding flashes as their hands touched. Then Draco slunk back into the crowd, off to find something stronger than champagne to drink. He was also avoiding Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be under the impression that they were an item and soon to be engaged. He thought he had seen her peering anxiously through the throng of people as he shook hands with the "Golden Boy."

It took longer than he would have liked to cross the ballroom. He mingled with guests to fulfill his duties as host on his way though. He shook hands with several members of the Ministry and answered questions about a painting in the corridor. The library seemed blessedly empty, so he slipped inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

He quickly realized that he was not alone though. To his surprise, the pretty girl who had arrived with Potter was looking at the spines of the books, a glass of wine in her hand, and her back to him. He wondered she what house she had been in at school, he couldn't remember seeing her before. Her shoulders were tan and her silk gown showed the highlights of her small figure. He vaguely thought about asking her for a dance.

Not wanting her to turn around and catch him staring at her, he cleared his throat.

"Those are originals," he said.

She gasped and swiveled around, clutching her chest. He realized with a start who it was that he was looking at. It was Granger, and she looked gorgeous. Why wasn't she with Potter, and why wasn't he surprised that she was perusing a library during a party?

"You startled me," she said breathlessly, also coming to the conclusion of who her companion was. She surveyed him for a moment. "Its been ages, how are you?"

"Well," he all but stammered. "I'm well. Have you had a nice summer so far?" He felt awkward and a little unsettled that he didn't know it was her. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to her, but he wouldn't dream of having a bad exchange with her now; it wouldn't bode well with Potter's fan club who were probably all drinking his family's stock of fifty year old scotch by now. But to be honest, he didn't have the heart or energy to insult her anymore, he didn't want to.

"Reasonably well," she said softly. "I went to Austrailia for a few weeks. And you?"

"Fine," he said "I didn't see Weasley with you."

Her face twitched involuntarily when he said Weasley's name. He hadn't been reading the gossip rag lately but he an inkling from Pansy, who seemed to know about other people's affairs even before they did sometimes, that there were clouds on the horizon. Apparently she had a friend who had seen them fighting in Flourish and Blott's, but of course Weasley couldn't read, so that might have been the cause . . .

"No," she said quietly. "He isn't here."

He was about to ask why but at that moment the library door opened, which only meant it could be one of his parents. Malfoy's were the only ones who could operate the locks within the Manor.

"Draco!" It was Lucius, striding in to look for his absent son, "I thought I made it clear-"

He stopped dead when he saw him with Hermione Granger and an odd smile flashed across his face.

"Why, Miss Granger" he said pleasantly. "How very nice to see you. I hope my son is showing you the library. I understand that you are very fond of reading."

"That's true," she said agreeably, but Draco could see the suspicion creeping into her features and body posture.

"You arrived with out an escort," he stated. "You must allow Draco a dance, it is the least he can do."

Draco tensed up, had he so foolishly shown his hand? Ordinarily she would be off limits, forbidden fruit, but dancing with Harry Potter's best friend in the presence of the press would be a good political move for their family. Not to mention it would hurt the Weasley's.

"Oh," she said, her eyes darting towards the door where music could be heard on the other side. "Please don't put yourself out-"

"I insist," Draco said a little too quickly.

The surprise on her face was evident. She raised her eyebrows but allowed him to take her hand and lead her out of the library. A waltz was playing and their dance ended up being rather short for Draco's taste. A few people murmured around them as they stepped out to dance, but there wasn't any great uproar. Her waist was small and the silk of her dress was smooth to the touch. She smelled of a jasmine.

That was the last ball before his parents deaths, and the last he had seen of Hermione Granger. It wasn't the last he had thought of her though. In some ways she had been on the mind for twelve years. She had plagued him with her academic success, forever upstaging his achievements, and then when he realized that she was a woman it was her bare shoulders and smooth skin that taunted him. He had heard that Ron Weasley had died shortly thereafter, but he didn't know how. He didn't care either. He would have to speak to her, but he was determined to keep his cards closer to his vest this time. He wouldn't be driven by his attraction towards her, attraction was a fleeting thing, he knew. It was a temporary state of mind; everything in this world is temporary. The truth was that he would have kept a respectable distance from her, and probably never seen her again had it not been for this infernal law.

The last he had heard of her she was working for the Ministry, so he would start there. He paid his bill at the Leaky Cauldron and headed for the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He raised some eyebrows walking through the main entrance of the Ministry, past an ornate fountain, and finally onto the lift. A few people who had been on good terms with his father said a brief 'hello' but Draco was ultimately either stared at or avoided all together. It seemed to him that the Malfoy name was still a dirty epithet in most circles, but he expected nothing less. If he were going to remain in England, then he would have to begin doing some damage control.

An older thin woman with sharp features received him when he arrived at Hermione's last post, and looked dubious when he asked where he could find Granger.

"She isn't here," she informed him crisply. "She is no longer in this department."

"Obviously," he drawled, looking at the three desks in the department that contained strangers. "Where has she gone?"

"That is privileged information, Mr. Malfoy."

"I need to speak with her," he stated. "It is a matter of urgency."

"And what might that be?" she snipped. "Planning to murder her are you?"

The gall was unbelievable. Draco felt the vein in his neck throb in anger. Obviously this was going nowhere so he changed tactics. He decided to use the rare honest approach.

"No," he said tightly. "I'm going to propose to her." He waved a copy of the marriage decree at her.

Her eyebrows shot up, this news had done the trick and disarmed her.

"She went into law, last I know. After that she left the Ministry."

Draco turned on his heel and strode towards the lift without saying a word. The law suited her, he thought. She had always been so self-righteous and pious, always integrating herself in the injustices of the world whether they concerned her or not. But Draco wasn't going to the Department of Law Enforcement, they weren't going to tell a Malfoy where to find one of their own, especially the illustrious Miss Granger. He was going to the one person who he had a chance of convincing to help him, or at the very least point him in the right direction.

The lift was crowded but silent, it looked as if everyone was watching at him. When it at last came to his floor the other occupants of the elevator stepped instinctively out of her way.

"Level Two," said the cool voice of a faceless woman. "Auror Headquarters."

He was going to see Potter.


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Notes: Thank you for the warm responses to my story! I'm very touched that so many of you are following it. I wasn't going to put Hermione and Draco together for another chapter, but you've been good so I'm going to give it to you early.

Disclaimer: How I wish they were mine. . . .

Chapter Three

Harry Potter was being clapped on the back heartily by other Aurors as they walked by; apparently he had captured Rookwood the day before and there were congratulations to go around. Draco sat impatiently as they went by, elbowing each other and glaring at him between high fives. The whole of Auror Headquarters knew he was there, he was sure. The receptionist had looked at him like he was the Dark Lord himself when he asked to see Potter. She looked vaguely familiar to him; perhaps they had been at school together. She had actually walked backwards to Potter's desk, not taking her eyes off of him or turning her back. Did she really think he was going to avada her in the Auror Headquarters? Several Aurors made rude gestures at him as they walked by and others stared coldly at him. Draco looked haughtily at them, if he had anything to say about it the Malfoy name would rise again, and he would see to it that those who scorned him paid.

His trip to the Ministry had been no worse than he feared, but it made him realize how much work actually lay ahead of him. It was his duty, as well as his father before him, and his grandfather before that and so on, to increase the dividend and their family's position in the world. His grandfather had built the west wing of Saint Mungoe's, purchased the neighboring property of Malfoy Manor, and endorsed two Ministers for Magic. His own father had started out well; he had become a governor of Hogwarts, united the Black family to the Malfoy's by marrying Draco's mother, but unfortunately joined Voldemort and ultimately led their family into disgrace. It wasn't that Draco disagreed with the Dark Lord's ideals, but his methods were too extreme for Draco's tastes. He was a lunatic who teamed up with monster's like Fenir Greyback and the Giants to achieve his ends, and these tactics were effective but ultimately alienated the pure-bloods with less excessive leanings.

Potter was suspicious, but not ignorant of the law. He himself had married Ginny Weasley straight out of school while she was still a student, and not eligible under the terms of the Marriage Edict. There was a moving photograph of her on his desk. She was smiling and waving at him with the tips of her fingers, obviously pregnant. Draco hadn't thought about a family of his own, that was true enough, but even he could see their abiding love. This thought made him feel strangely empty inside.

"You understand my reservations here, right?" Potter asked. "I mean she's one of my best mates, and you two have never exactly been bosom buddies."

"I assure you, Potter, that my intentions with your friend are exactly as I have said." He said with exasperated sigh. "If I had more feasible options, don't you think I would have pursued them first?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Who _were_ your other options?" he asked. "'Mione can't have been the only one."

"She's the only acceptable one," Draco said tersely.

"Who else, Malfoy?"

Draco had the distinct impression that he was being interrogated.

"None of your concern, Potter,"

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "If you want to find Hermione AND stay out of Azkaban, then I think it _is_ my concern."

Draco cursed inwardly.

"Longbottom's fiancé, Creevy's kid sister, a forty year old and a squib!" he spat. "Those are my options!"

"So you need her then, a _mudblood_." Now he had the distinct impression that he was being mocked, great.

"Yes," Draco murmured after a ragged breath. "I need her. Happy now?"

They were quiet for a long moment. Potter seemed to be debating something, possibly what, or how much to tell him.

"To be honest," he began, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on his robes. "I haven't seen her in an age. She's been abroad since she left the Ministry."

Two years, he thought. Wasn't that was when he heard Weasley died?

"But you know exactly where to find her," he accused. "Granger didn't jump town with out telling you where she was going, I bet she's been corresponding with you too."

Potter's jaw was set and his shoulders were tense. Draco could see the deliberation swell within him, and knew he was about to concede. It was a feeling that Draco knew well, it happened often in his business affairs. The truth was that Potter had no choice, unless of course Granger was already paired up, which Draco somehow doubted. _He_ had been out of the country too; perhaps she was also ignorant of the Marriage Decree. If that were the case, Potter wouldn't want her to go to prison.

"Listen," Potter said leaning forward so only Draco could hear. "I'm telling you this because I know the seriousness of this law and I don't want Hermione shipped off to the North Sea. You remember that I gave you this information, and I'll be the one to personally lock you up with Dementors for the rest of your natural life if you so much as step on her foot."

"Agreed," he said, triumph welling within him. "Now tell me where she is so I can sweep her off her feet."

Potter didn't appreciate the sarcasm, but still told Draco where she was.

Greece was warm most of the year, but took a small hiatus for a short wet winter. Ikaria was located in the North Aegean Islands, a loose grouping of islands off the west coast of Turkey. It was a perfect climate for Hermione, who had traveled to Crete with her parents before she started at Hogwarts. It was the last holiday she went on before discovering with absolute certainty that she was a witch. She had wondered before she got her letter, of course. She knew even as a child that she was different than her friends in school. She could often move things just by thinking about it, and more than once she found her way out of a sticky situation. She had gone into kindergarten being teased by the other girls and pushed in puddles by boys. She had too much hair, a name no child could pronounce, read at an eleven year old level, and could do complicated math equations. She was bound to be singled out. That first year she was ridiculed, and left out in the play yard with her books while Nancy Endicott told the other girls she was raised by gypsies. The next year, and the years following that, Hermione was no longer teased. One day Nancy Endicott, who had perfectly smooth blonde hair and sat behind Hermione in reading group, found a thumbtack on the floor and stabbed Hermione in the ankle with it. Later that day Hermione cornered her in the coat cubbies and Nancy came out sobbing with clumps of hair falling like feathers from her head. Nancy was sent home and didn't return for a week, at which time she wore a large straw beach hat with a purple scarf beneath it, hiding her bare head. The other children whispered when Hermione went by after that, _witch_, the said under their breaths. But no one crossed her after that either. Her parents were called into mediation with the Endicott's, but Melinda and John Granger vehemently defended their daughter. It was a medical condition that caused Nancy to loose her hair, they insisted. A seven year old couldn't do anything to cause their child to go bald, they maintained. And if the Endicott's pursued the matter any further, then they would find themselves in court.

Her parent's had always been on her side, unwavering. She had felt like a member of the Three Musketeers as a child. They had no other family, save her father's crazy sister who lived in a nudist colony in Peru, and did everything together. They went on Holiday in a different country every summer, which was how Hermione came to love Greece. Though the Granger's preferred to travel around, closing their dental practice for one month a year, Hermione kept insisting on revisiting Greece.

It wasn't a surprise to them, or their daughter that she moved there as an adult. The wizarding population of the North Aegean islands was surprisingly interspersed with the muggles. Unlike England, they were not strictly segregated. There was no crossing point between the two worlds, like the Leaky Cauldron for example. Wizards and wizarding businesses were intermingled amongst the muggles. Muggles might live next door to a wizard for several years and never know it. Their children often played together on the beach or raced sailboats made from cans and string in small inlets. They had a secrecy statute in their laws, but Hermione felt that it really extended more to discretion than secrecy. There was quite a bit of intermarriage with muggles, and most natives could pick her out as a witch and point her in the right direction if she were lost and looking for an apothecary or a wand service shop, with a wink and a finger pressed to their lips.

Hermione Granger lived in a modest flat that over looked the sea, and worked in an ancient wizarding hospital that serviced most of the Greek Isles. She had completed her apprenticeship in only a year and five months, a new record, and did most of the bookwork while she was still in England. She worked on call in the Emergency ward, which left her plenty of time to do her favorite things; read and lay on the beach.

It wasn't a perfect existence, but it wasn't a bad one either. She had everything she needed; peace and quiet, plenty of books, a fulfilling position that gave her an amount of freedom (and gold) that she was comfortable with, but she was lonely at times too.

She rarely went back to England, though she planned to see Harry and Ginny's first-born son when he arrived. Her parent's had stayed on in Australia and retired from dentistry, giving her the house, but Hermione didn't want it. There was a time when she thought she would marry Ron, but they had a falling out a year out of Hogwart's from which they never recovered. It still stung badly when he died though, she had never really given up hope on them being together. It was juvenile, she knew, and she was glad their union had never come to fruition; it would have been a disaster. Not only did they want different things in a relationship, for Hermione refused to be his mum, but also Ron had let fame go to his thick head and banged anything in shoe leather while they were together.

Their breakup was public had been embarrassing enough for Hermione, but Ron's death had been unbearable. The press had hounded Hermione for details of the Quidditch star that had died of alcohol poisoning. They wanted to know his desires, why she wasn't enough for their rouge, and one reporter even wanted his boot size. Hermione had gotten good at dodging the press, but she was tired too. Didn't she get to grieve too? She finally left when a tearful Molly Weasley gave an interview to Witch's Weekly about her son's need to be cared for and how Hermione had fallen short. Ginny was livid and sent her mum a howler, and the rest of the Weasley's were very apologetic, even Percy. He had actually written Hermione a letter saying that his mother wasn't the same after George's death. To be fair, she didn't leave only because of Molly Weasley, she had thinking about it for some time, it was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

Hermione's days were pretty routine, even though her position was "on-call," it was usually an odd poisoning or a backfiring wand that had made the caster sprout antlers or pestules. Once she had had an actual shark-attack victim, but all in all, it was quiet. She had taken up the task of learning Greek, though almost every wizard in Ikaria spoke English, and studied on her beach blanket wearing shorts and a bikini top that left her very tan for most of the year.

Her social life wasn't tremendous, she had a few friends from the hospital and was semi dating Ian Marsh, who owned the Apothecary and came from Canada. Ian was simple and nice and able to have an intelligent conversation with her. He was thirty-five and a good kisser, but Hermione was dedicated to taking things slowly. She insisted that she was concentrating on her career, but really she just worried about dating again and rushing into something. Ian understood, he was so nice that way, and Hermione appreciated him for it.

They had been on four dates, the last of which was Ian's house where he made her dinner and asked about her family. It was nice, _he_ was nice, but Hermione felt that some key element was missing. Wasn't love supposed to be fire and poetry, life and death, heart and soul? Or was that simply the way Parvati and Lavender had described it in the girls' dorms? Were her expectations of the relationship unreasonable? Hermione remembered the way she felt about Ron while they were teenagers, and while it wasn't life and death, it was certainly something that made her pulse quicken and her breathing irregular. Ian didn't do that for her, and Hermione wondered; for he was everything she wanted, if it was something inside of her that prevented her from feeling the way she wanted to. Was she sabotaging the relationship? Had she been so damaged during the war, so heartbroken from all death she had seen, that she couldn't feel the way she should? Was she doomed to live a loveless life, or could she snap out of this some day and realize she made a mistake by alienating every man who had ever wanted her. Was there a component of her that lay dormant or broken?

Well, whatever the case was, she wouldn't let that stop her from seeing Ian. He was so nice to her and it felt good to be desired. He had soft, warm lips, and kissed her neck perfectly. He wrapped his hands around her waist when they snogged on his couch, and he wanted her, utterly and truly. Ron had, for a time, she was sure. But the fire had gone out in their relationship too quickly for Hermione's liking. They knew each other for too long and too well for it to work out.

It was raining, and Hermione was relaxing on her couch with a book. She wore leggings and an artfully oversized sweater with white sox. That morning she had been called into the hospital and three am to confirm a diagnosis of Spattergroit that one of the interns had seen on a four year old. The parents were in Grece from Russia and the mother was so hysterical that she had to be restrained and Hermione had to calm the father down in the lobby in broken Russian, which was comprised with four or five words picked up from several years ago when she visited Moscow with her parents. The whole ordeal had left her feeling tired for the rest of the day. She had a date with Ian the following night that she was looking forward to though. They were taking a portkey to Italy for dinner and going to the theater. Hermione had bought a silk, sapphire blue dress and sleekeasy potion for the occasion.

Tonight she was trying to take it easy and hope that if she were called into the hospital, that it wouldn't be for anything to taxing, she didn't like to take work on dates with her. The window was open and the sheer curtains were fluttering in the breeze, letting the sea air fill the small flat. She had a volume of ancient runes balanced on her lap, and smooth jazz was emanating from her ipod. She was surprised to hear a knock at her door. She was sure it was either Ian, or Dessa, her friend from the hospital. She got up to answer it and promptly dropped the large tomb on her foot.

"Shit!" she swore softly, rubbing her foot.

"I'm coming!" she shouted, when the knocking persisted.

She made her way to the door gingerly and flung it open with out a thought. It wasn't Ian. It wasn't Dessa either. It was one of those rare moments in Hermione's life where she was speechless. She was stunned, and thought she was either dreaming or hallucinating, for she wasn't seeing the person on the other side of the door correctly.

"Hitting the sauce Granger?" Draco Malfoy drawled. She didn't say anything; she was actually on the verge of pinching herself to break the illusion when it spoke again. "Were you raised by wolves? It's customary to invite someone in when they call."

"Malfoy?" she asked, disbelievingly.

"No," he sneered. "I'm the ghost of Christmas bloody Past!"

It was definitely him. She stood aside from the door to let him in, it might not have been the smartest move but she had muggle neighbors that she didn't want getting too suspicious. Draco definitely looked out of place in Ikaria, he wore thick black outer robes and looked every bit like a wizard. He stepped into her flat and took off his cloak, which was wet from the rain storm. Hermione stood near the door, she had barely moved a muscle.

"So this is where you live?" he asked, looking at the small flat. Hermione would bet her life savings that his bathroom at Malfoy Manor was several times larger than this. "It's small," he stated. "I'm not sure I could manage." This seemed to snap Hermione out of her daze.

"I don't need anything else," she defended. "What are you doing here Malfoy?"

He didn't answer her immediately; he was looking at her television set with a quizzical expression. There were probably a whole set of appliances that he had never seen in her small flat.

"Malfoy?" she asked, feeling impatient.

He ceased his interest in her T.V and squared his shoulders, Hermione noted that they were broader than she remembered from school, and immediately felt foolish for thinking such a thing under the circumstances. He looked at her with intensity.

"We need to talk," he finally said. "You should sit down."

"This is my house, if you haven't noticed!" she bristled. "I think I'll stand!"

"As you wish," he sighed, gazing out the window.

"Why are you here?" she repeated.

His eyes met hers again with a concentration that made her slightly dizzy.

"Hermione Granger," he began, in formal tones that would suit Percy Weasley. "Will you marry me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Authors note: Thank you again for the lovely reviews, and keep them coming! I may not answer them, but they are greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter four

Hermione looked at him uncomprehendingly for several seconds. He was having her on, that much was obvious, but why? She hadn't seen him for three, four years? Save for that bizarre, impromptu waltz at the Anniversary Celebration, every encounter they had ever had left a bad taste in Hermione's mouth. That one alone had been, if not horrible, just very strange. He didn't even like her, and the feeling was unequivocally mutual. He had been a bigoted prick in school and at one point she had actually struck him across the face for his blatant nastiness. Why was he really here, and how did he find her? Did he still bare her ill will? It would be odd after their last encounter, but Malfoy was odd. If he _were_ here to murder her, then he was going about it in a peculiar way.

"I'm not getting down on one knee, Granger!" he snapped.

"What are you talking about Malfoy? Why are you really here?"

He looked at her incredulously; there was a flash behind him out her window over the sea. Lightning, she thought, how appropriate to herald Draco Malfoy's unanticipated arrival into her neatly arranged little world.

"I'm talking about the Marriage Act," he said with sarcastic and deliberate slowness. "I'm here to ask you to marry me, and keep us both out of prison. How much wine have you actually had?" he was referring to the half empty glass of merlot beside the couch where she had been reading before his intrusion.

But Hermione wasn't thinking about the wine, she had only a half a glass. The Marriage Decree had been only a whisper in the Ministry before she left Brittan, but Hermione had done enough inquiry and research to understand the implications of such an act. She never did find out who was pushing for the law though. It couldn't have been anyone from the muggle relations' office; they would have been proud of their intentions. Magical Blood had become inbred and needed fresh, and very often non-magical, blood to replenish it. It wasn't a secret that the wizarding population had suffered great losses before, during and after the war. But it was a lesser-known fact that Hogwart's was sending letters to fewer and fewer muggle born children. Not because of the underlying prejudice against them, but because there was a drastic decrease in their existence. Hermione had discovered during her research as an intern, that for a muggle-born witch or wizard to be magical, they must have a witch or wizard somewhere on their family tree. Hermione had narrowed down two or three possibilities on her own, but couldn't be sure. The only thing she knew for certain was that pureblood witches were having trouble conceiving with pureblood wizards. But when they were paired with someone, like a half blood or muggle born, that did not have biological ties to their family, they were pregnant almost immediately. She didn't know why they were all so surprised about it either. They came from an incestuous pool of relatives and had become madder with each generation. Something surely had to be done, she agreed, but hadn't entertained the blood chilling thought that she would be subjected to a law forcing her to marry and have babies like a brood mare. It was a contributing factor of her decision to relocate to Greece. For a while the white sand and sunny skies had brought her the much needed respite she craved from Wizarding England and its oppressive regulations on the magical community. But like a lingering illness, it followed her. She wasn't safe anywhere, she suddenly realized. It hit her then, cold sinking panic. Her head swam and her small flat seemed to spin around her, bile rose in her throat. She sat down quietly on the sofa before she did something that would embarrass her; like faint in front of Malfoy.

It was inconceivable. She couldn't be subjected to this law, and with Malfoy of all people. She knew that the Ministry would have selected wizards and witches who had no common bloodlines to make magical babies, but she didn't know if there would be only one match, or several.

She felt the cushion next to her dip with his weight.

"You didn't know," he stated.

Hermione shook her head dumbly. She was inexperienced at being blindsided like this, and instantly regretted her uncharacteristically rash decision to cancel her subscription to the Daily Prophet. She should have seen this coming, prepared herself, maybe even fought this barbaric edict.

"I _didn't_ know," she repeated softly.

"Neither did I," he said. "Didn't you get a letter?"

She shook her head, determined not to break down in front of him.

"Well, what are you going to do then?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asked.

"Azkaban," he said stiffly. "There's talk of banishment from the magical world, but the family barrister thinks it's only talk. We have only a few days to satisfy the law before we are found in noncompliance."

"You mean we have to get married in a matter of days?" she said, alarmed. "That's contemptible! How can they expect that of us? I was only made aware of this edict five minutes ago! How can they do that?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said. "I've known for less than three days. They claim to have attempted contact with me, but I've been abroad as well and didn't receive the summons."

"Well isn't that convenient!" She snapped. "I'm sure they "tried" to contact me as well."

Malfoy looked at her with raised eyebrows but said nothing.

"Am I your only option?" she asked.

"Yes," he said tersely.

"Surely they present people with more than one choice in partner though," she pressed. "What if I had been spoken for?"

"You were the only available option," he amended, but did not elaborate. Hermione was sure there was more that he wasn't telling her, but was sure that he wasn't any happier about his intended spouse.

"What does that mean?" she challenged.

"That the other witches were not suitable," he said in clipped tones.

"Suitable? Malfoy, you have made it your life's mission to impart to me and everyone else in the wizarding world, that neither am I suitable but that my mere existence is intolerable to you and your lot. Surely anything would have been better than a muggle born."

Malfoy's expression was dark and unfathomable.

"If I am forced to marry," he said began, "then I am going to choose the witch that best suits my purposes. Unfortunately for you, you're it. So how about it, Granger? Me, or prison."

Hermione was furious; Malfoy's nerve was astonishing. _He has no right_, she thought angrily, _to waltz into the tidy life I have painstakingly arranged around myself and spring this on me. And insult me while he's at it!_

"Maybe I have options worth considering too," she countered.

"Maybe," he said boredly, examining her DVD player. "But you only have three days to fulfill the edict. By all means, take your chances Granger."

"How did you find me?"

"You didn't make it hard," he said vaguely. "But your pal Potter told me almost immediately."

"No he didn't," she said. "Harry would never tell you-"

"Are you sure about that?" he challenged. "Even if I told him you'd go to Azkaban if you didn't marry me? For 'The Chosen One' he's a bit of a push over."

Anger rose violently in her. The onslaught of murderous thoughts toward him for forcing her to marry him, and Harry for ratting her out, was almost overwhelming. Her fingers itched toward her wand, but it was lying uselessly on the end table.

She couldn't believe Harry had given her up. After everything they have been through, he gave her up to Malfoy. Even if he thought she would go to Azkaban, he could have come here himself and explained the situation to her. Malfoy could have snuffed her out in her sleep for all he knew.

She looked at Malfoy with pure disbelief, but if this affected him she couldn't tell. She sighed deeply, still refusing to make eye contact with him. She didn't know what she was going to tell Harry, but at the moment didn't feel any obligation whatsoever to explain anything to him.

"Fine," she groaned in defeat.

Hermione sent a white dove to the hospital, relaying her resignation, and gave similar notice to her landlord. She bid a quiet goodbye to her sunny little, lemon colored flat, and packed her trunk and three suit cases, which she then sent ahead to her parent's empty house in Oxford. They left the next morning before it was light, and traveled to the international portkey office, but couldn't get to England until much later in the day, so they went to Paris and took the train. She was an adult and could have gone by herself, she told him. But he insisted that they go together and register at the Ministry as an engaged couple immediately. She was sure that it could have waited for her to settle in for a day, but she was just as sure that Malfoy didn't want to leave her in case she split and he wound up in Azkban. It was insulting, but she couldn't blame him entirely, she might have had the same fear if she were in his place.

Hermione felt as though she were in a bizarre dream sequence. Less than twenty four hours ago she was in her small apartment listening to the ocean and anticipating a romantic dinner the next night. Now she was watching the scenery past the train compartment become increasingly wet and dark with rain. The feeling of dread settled inside of her, she wasn't really ready to come back. Draco sat next to her in his impecibly tailored robes, looking unfathomably out the window and not speaking, which was fine with her.

She took the time to study him discreetly from the corner of her eye while she pretended to read. Not even Hermione could deny that he was attractive in his own way. His shoulders were broader than she remembered from their school days, and his forearms, exposed by his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows, had a masculine quality. She wondered what it would be like to be married to him. She would immediately see to talking to a barrister upon their arrival, which would determine what her obligations were. Her inner optimist preened at this thought. Maybe this could be virtually painless. They would live separately and keep up appearances if the Ministry came to call. He could stay in his mansion and she could stay at her parents old home in Oxford.

Maybe they wouldn't even need to consummate the marriage, which churned Hermione insides just to think about. It wasn't as though she were a blushing virgin. She had had a few encounters with different men, but mainly it had all been with Ron. She was attracted to men, certainly to Ron at one point and then to few others after him, but Hermione had just come to accept that she wasn't a very sexual person. She still felt the keen desire for intimacy and wasn't repelled by sex, but her experiences weren't the electric, pulsating, rapturous events that she had heard other women talk about. She felt about sex the way she felt about romantic love in general; maybe it wasn't what it was chalked up to be. Or maybe there was something wrong with her that prevented her from connecting with another person. Whatever the reason, she was determined not to let it interfere with her decision making during her stay in England. She had to find a way to stop this law before it got out of hand, which honestly might have already happened. There was really no way to know before she got there.

Their lunch came towards late morning/ early afternoon, chicken salad sandwiches, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to eat. She was still a bundle of nerves, anxious to get to England and thinking about the action she would need to take upon her arrival. She was finding it hard to sit on a train for hours just thinking about what lay ahead of her. Draco ate half of his lunch before pushing it away and describing it as "substandard."

When the train arrived at the station Draco levitated Hermione's small bag to the platform.

"This is my address in Oxford," she said, handing him a slip of parchment. "I'm going to unpack and change, maybe see Harry, and then we can register if you want."

"You can see Potter tonight," he said. "We need to get to the Ministry and register so we'll be eligible to wed before next week. I'll give you two hours and then I'll come and fetch you."

"This is a muggle address," she warned. "Don't do anything to upset my neighbors."

Muggles, he thought contemptibly. He should have known he would have to deal with them at some point, he just hoped to avoid her family. She might object if he hexed them.

"You should have sent your things to my townhouse in London," he said complained.

She bristled, he could tell he had struck a nerve but didn't care. If she thought he was going to live in muggle England amongst her set, then she was gravely mistaken.

"We can talk about our living arrangements later," she sniffed.

Draco contemplated this for a moment.

"Fine," he said shortly. "I'll give you two hours, but don't think of running off Granger. I'm not going to Azkaban for you."

She rolled her eyes at him, and clutched her luggage before dissaperating.

Draco returned to his townhouse to find that his elf had returned and reported that the doxies, pigeons, and garden gnomes had been vanquished from the chimneys and conservatory, but the peacocks were still on the loose. Draco would still need to take action but it would have to wait until after the "wedding."

Draco spent the two hours he had promised her in his study catching up on some correspondance. He would have gone to the Manor and surveyed the damage again before brining a grounds keeper on, but was afraid that he didn't have the time. Hermione Granger, for all he could tell, wasn't the sort of woman to be fashionably late.

He sat at his father's desk, the only piece of furniture he had brought from the Manor, and composed several owls. The South American property was still being threatened by their government and Draco was in intense negotiations with a local land developer to sell. He had taken a three day reprieve from his business dealings, which for him was almost unheard of. He sent three missives off to potential buyers for the land, glad to be rid of it. It was a piece of property he had kept for sentimental value, but that value was quickly diminishing as the Peruvian government faced an increasing amount of upheaval. It had belonged to his mother's Aunt, and he understood that she had spent several summers there as a child. He was sad in a small way to be rid of it, but it couldn't be helped. In any case, sentiment never got a wizard too far. It had its place, he admitted, but it wasn't in business. It was nice to take his mind off of Granger for a moment or two, and let it drift to safer more familiar waters. There was also the business of deciding where they should live that would need to be addressed. Draco wouldn't live with, or near muggles. He wasn't ready to live in the Manor, and was equally as sure that Granger would make his life difficult if he suggested it. But the townhouse wasn't suitable for a Malfoy wife or children, mudblood or no. It was a bachelor pad, by all accounts, and had only three bedrooms and two baths. While it was built of marble and teak floors, it was almost a hovel compared to Malfoy Manor.

No, some place suitable would need to be found. There was a sprawling property in Bath that might be acceptable. He would need to see it for himself and make sure it hadn't fallen into disarray like the Manor. He would need to find a way of convincing her that this was a good idea or else he might end up neighbors with the likes of Potter.

He almost groaned at the thought. His father would spin in his grave if he knew he was marrying a mudblood. Even if she was a well connected, attractive, and admittedly smart mudblood she wasn't appropriate for a Malfoy. The only prospect that he was looking forward to was getting her between the sheets, if it came to that. She was a pain in the ass, even her so called friends admitted it, but she had a bookish appeal that Draco couldn't refute.

He had been watching her intermittently through the train ride as she read. She really was lovely; it was too bad she was a Gryffindor mudblood. If her circumstances had been different he may have pursued her, this sham of a law aside. Her pink lips moved silently as she read, and the contours of her legs were clearly visible in her muggle pants. Her hair was longer now than it was in school and hung in a neat ponytail down her shoulder. Something, perhaps the sheer weight of her hair, or perhaps something more sinister, like her part in the war or Weasley's death had taken some of the curl out of it. She looked different than the last time he saw her, not worse or better, but different. He had studied her in school more than he liked to admit, but the difference between now and then were palpable to Draco. She still had the same features, the same bossiness, the same figure, but she was no longer the girl she was. Who was though? Draco didn't keep any company to speak of, save the odd dinner with Blaise, but he couldn't name any acquaintance that wasn't changed by the war.

When he arrived at her home in Oxford he was surprised. With the obvious exceptions like concrete aside, this could have been a magical neighborhood; a nice one. The Granger's must have done well for themselves, he thought. He had expected some muggle dung heap, for everything he had ever been told about them, but their neighborhood was, for lack of a better word, pleasant. There were neatly manicured lawns with sprawling houses made of brick and stone. Old trees with thick trunks, which were probably leafy in the summer, were positioned on a grassy strip in the middle of the road. And beyond the houses he thought he could see a park enclosed by a wrought iron fence.

Not bad for muggles.

He found her house, grey with a red door, and used the knocker three times. He waited for several seconds and was immensely relieved when she came to the door and not her parents. She had changed and was wearing a black pencil skirt with a mauve blouse and a gold watch, which she was still trying to fasten.

"Come in," she said distractedly. "I'm finishing a phone call to electric company."

He didn't know what she was talking about but lingered in the doorway. She motioned him further in. He looked apprehensively around.

"For Heaven's sake Malfoy," she exclaimed. "My parent's live in Australia. You don't have to worry."

She must have ascertained his anxiety about mixing with her sort from something in his actions and immediately schooled himself. It was unseemly to appear "afraid" of her muggle parent's; his mother would have scolded him.

She finished her conversation with the "electric company" on a suspicious looking device she called a "telephone," and proclaimed that she was ready once she had donned her coat.

"I've had the floo set up since I was in my fourth year at Hogwarts," she explained. She reached up to the mantle above the fire place and pulled a crystal vase down.

"Finte incantatem," she whispered, and it transformed into a terracotta pot full of floo powder.

The grate enlarged to allow them to both step inside and Draco watched as she threw the powder down.

"The Ministry of Magic!" she coughed as the powder rebounded on them.

The Ministry was abuzz as they entered. It was midday, past lunch hour, but the energy was frenzied. A few people stared at them as the walked across the Atrium, but no one was openly hostile. Hermione was sure that they had their own problems to contend with. She certainly did.

Several new departments had been added upon the creation of the Marriage Decree, she noted. Marriage Registration, their destination, The Department of Matrimonial Matching, and The Offices of Magical Child Production, which made her shudder. She had a good feeling of what that entailed. Hermione felt her dream of a neat marriage and divorce slipping ever further away.

Their appointment wasn't for another twenty-five minutes so Hermione stepped into the Ministries library and checked out material that was freshly written on the law. She then immediately flipped to the section on reproduction.

Shit. _Marital relations_, as the Ministry referred to it, _is required weekly beginning the seventh day after the marriage is officiated, until pregnancy is achieved. The couple is also required to live in the same residence for the duration of their child/children's formative years. Failure for a reproductively healthy couple to conceive in one year's time can and will result in termination of their bond, and reassignment for both parties. . . _

It went on, but Hermione couldn't bare to read anymore. It was worse and more terrifying than she could have imagined. She couldn't even imagine of having a child with Draco Malfoy. He was possibly the most unpleasant person she had ever met.

Malfoy, who had been reading over her shoulder looked equally grave. At least, she thought, he is just as unhappy about this. 

They walked through the Ministry in silence and met the registrar just on time. They were required to take a wand oath, which they did, to uphold their engagement, and made an appointment for 9:00am for the day after next to make their marriage official.

Malfoy walked her to the floo, and she sensed his unease in letting her out of his sight.

"I'll meet you at 8:45," she was referring to their wedding day, which was too strange to think about.

"I'll collect you," he stated.

"Oh, there really isn't any need," she protested. "I'm perfectly capable-"

"Of course you're capable. It is simply the way things are done Granger," he said sarcastically. "Really, what kind of barbaric customs do muggles have?"

"They certainly don't force people to marry!" she hissed.

"Really?" he sneered. "I believe arranged marriages are not only a wizarding practice."

"Piss off Malfoy," she said, taking a step toward the grate.

"Bye wifie," he drawled, some of his swagger coming back.

Hermione didn't know how he had the energy to be so smug; she was exhausted.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

It was only early evening but Hermione was exhausted. She had originally intended on paying a visit to Harry and Ginny, but was so tired she could barely walk to the couch to lie down. She toed her pumps off and flopped down with the remote control and began channel surfing. She was glad the electricity had been restored while she was away. She'd had to use a bit of magic that morning just to get ready for her trip to the Ministry.

There were so many things to consider that she barely knew where to begin. Her head swan with the sheer onslaught of it. There were the obvious things like where she and Malfoy were going to live, how she was going to reverse the required Unbreakable Vow once this terrible law was overturned (and she was convinced it would be.) But the thing that irked Hermione the most that day, more than her required sexual contact with Malfoy, more than being forced to marry someone she barely tolerated, more than the complete lack of moral fortitude shown by her government, was how her best friend could betray her to complete creep like Malfoy. It was unbelievable. Ron had turned his back on them during the war, and even after they had patched things up and become engaged, he had revealed himself to her again and again. Ron's behavior had had even paved the way for a mantra of Hermione's; when someone shows you who they really are, believe them. In a way she had come to expect that sort of conduct from him, but not from Harry.

She would have to confront him. But she wanted to see Ginny too; it had been a long time since she had been in town, too long maybe. She noticed the changes within the Ministry almost immediately. Firstly, with the influx of activity with the Marriage Edict, the new departments that had been added were open seven days a week, and at all hours it seemed. There was also a harried energy, with an edge of something like panic that hovered in corridors, on the lift, in the cubicles of the employees. Almost every witch and wizard was tense and spoke in frantic whispers, even over mundane things like; like who didn't make the coffee that morning. This was not the wizarding world she had left behind. Everyone was scared and almost no one was unaffected by the Marriage Decree. She was almost afraid of what she would find in Diagon Alley the next day.

Muggle England seemed exactly the same though. The trees on her street were unchanged, children still rode their bikes rain or shine up and down the sidewalk, the Widow Harlow still raised her cane to mailmen and teenagers alike. The school bus still stopped at Ritters Ave every morning at seven to collect the elementary children. Her little neighborhood was so similar to the way it was when she was a child, she felt like crying. The only thing that was different, as far as she could tell, was the Granger's empty house. She ached to see her parents, but she felt strange around them now. Things were different after they relocated to Australia. She wasn't sure they forgave her for what she did to them, and didn't think they knew the severity of the situation, which forced her to take measures to keep them safe. To understand the threat Voldemort imposed on the world, you had to see it, and _that_ she couldn't allow for her mother and father.

She definitely couldn't tell them about Draco and their fraud of a marriage. They weren't even having a proper wedding; Hermione couldn't bear to make a mockery of their situation. But her mother would never understand why she couldn't plan the wedding of her only daughter. Hermione and Draco would make the Unbreakable Vow, as was required, at the Ministry in the Registrar's office, but there would be no ceremony. No white dress, no cake, no champagne toasts, nothing traditional, and nothing that would indicate they should celebrate.

Sometime after nine that night, and a half a bottle of wine, Hermione stumbled up the stairs and slept in the guest bed. She couldn't bear to sleep in the twin bed she used to inhabit during summers and Christmas break. She fell into a restless sleep and dreamt of her time at Hogwart's. It started out as a nice dream of her time in class and the common room with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and the twins. A prefect, for testing their products on first and second years, was telling off the twins, and Harry was goading her into helping him with his history of magic essay. It was light and relaxing, the way it used to be. At some point during the dream Ron and her were on the Astronomy Tower. Hermione's breathing came in quick bursts and her heartbeat quickened when he leaned in to kiss her. But when they broke apart it was Draco, and he turned his wand on her and she stumbled backwards and over the edge. She woke up sweating and breathing hard before she hit the ground where Dumbledore had met his end.

It took her several seconds to realize where she was. She couldn't hear the sea and rain was beating against the window pain. She wasn't in Ikaria anymore, but back in England. Gone were her sunny days spent reading at the beach, gone was her freedom and the anonymity Greece offered her. The reality hit her hard and she lay back down on the comforter. Her head always ached after drinking wine, and this morning was no exception. It was only half past seven, but Hermione couldn't fall back asleep so she took a bath instead and got dressed. She needed to go to Diagon Alley today, and she needed to pay a visit to Harry.

She washed her hair and face and brushed her teeth so thoroughly her gums bled before she left. It was still raining and cold in Diagon alley. Hermione was forced to run from the portal at the Leaky Cauldron to her destination, Madam Malkin's. She had packed away most of her winter things in parent's garage and didn't have the energy to sift through mountain of boxes to find them. Anyway, she didn't want what was in those boxes. It reminded her too much of her old life, she also tried to refrain from using too much magic in her muggle neighborhood, which would be necessary to attack the boxes without help. She wished she had asked Ginny to come, but she was eight months pregnant and probably too uncomfortable to traipse through Diagon Alley in the rain.

She was surprise to see how transformed Madam Malkin's was. Once a shop that contained a variety of dress and casual witch and wazarding clothing, it was now chalked full of white satin gowns and billowing black dress robes, which she took to be a wizard's version of a tuxedo. Hermione stood in the doorway in shock. It was still early enough that it wasn't yet flooded with other women looking for wedding gowns, for which she was glad. Madam Malkin appeared on the other side of the curtain that led to the storeroom, smiling cheerily. Hermione felt an irrational stab of irritation. This law was probably the best thing that had ever happened for her business.

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed, resting an armful of dress boxes on the counter. "What an utter delight!"

"Hullo," Hermione muttered nervously. She was starting to regret her laziness for not rummaging through the garage after all. Now she was worried that she would be questioned about her position on the law and how it is affecting her. She wasn't ready to tell people about her and Malfoy.

"How are you, my dear? Looking for something in particular? Perhaps a wedding gown?" She winked and pulled her enchanted tape measurer from her apron.

"No," Hermione said fretfully, her voice an octave too high. "No, I um, I'm just in for a cloak."

"Oh," Madam Malkin said, crestfallen. "Are you exempt from the Edict then? I would have loved to dress a war hero," she said wistfully.

"Well," Hermione began. "I'm not exempt, but-"

Madam Malkin's face lit up again.

"You don't already have a gown, do you?"

"I'm not wearing a gown," she said firmly.

"Are you sure dear?" she asked. "Did you see the silk or the organza? I'm sure we could find something beautiful for you to wear. This is the most important day of your life, after all."

Hermione scoffed at the term "important," the most dreadful day of her life might be more appropriate.

"Absolutely not," she said flatly. "But maybe I _should _wear a suit though . . ." she murmured to herself, looking around hopefully.

Madam Malkin harrumphed and led her back to a corner of the store wear she kept the business wear. Hermione sifted through it, but didn't find anything she deemed suitable. She couldn't possibly wear one of those gowns that crowded the front of the shop. They were beautiful, naturally, but wearing such a thing would be a joke considering her circumstances. This wasn't a wedding, she could barely stomach the thought, it was a legal contract . . .. That required sex. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Anything I can hem for you dear?" Floated Madam Malkin's voice.

"Not today," she said glumly.

She would venture into muggle London to look for something practical, but elegant. She didn't dare go to Twilfit and Tattings for fear of being recognized and asked all sorts of prying questions. It was too bad she would have to miss an outing to Flourish and Blott's.

Draco spent the day looking at the Property in Bath and hiring a groundskeeper for the Manor. The Bath property was more of a cottage compared to the Manor, but generously proportioned and chic in its own right. It was only one story, sprawling, and had floor to ceiling windows in several rooms. There was enough space for them to escape each other's company easily and library for Granger to get lost in, and hopefully never reemerge. It was perfect.

He considered sending an owl to Granger, but they had a week from tomorrow to sort out their living arrangements. In any case, she was probably giving Potter an earful right about now. The thought made Draco smirk. Technically he owed his life to Potter, but the idea of his discomfort at being relentlessly harangued by Granger gave him the warm fuzzies. The Chosen One was still the self-righteous prick he was at Hogwart's, after all.

Blaise was waiting at the Twig and Pitch, a Qidditch pub on the outskirts of Diagon Alley, late in the afternoon. He was the only friend Draco could claim, and they only corresponded twice a year. The Twig and Pitch was quiet as Draco entered. Most of their clientele didn't arrive until after were several tables still pushed against the wall and the Quaffles that normally zoomed overhead were suspended over them in a state of stasis. Blaise was in a booth and looked like Draco felt.

"Draco, you old dog" he said raising his drink to him. "I never thought I'd see you back here! This can only mean one thing: you got your letter then?"

Draco sat down heavily in the booth, nodding edgily.

"Well?" his friend asked. "Who is the lucky lady then?"

Draco surveyed him skeptically. Blaise would tease him mercilessly when he found out, but he didn't really see any way in keeping it a secret. It would be all over the papers in a matter of a few days, if it weren't already.

"Granger," he stated through clenched teeth.

"Who?" he asked, confused.

"Granger," he hissed. "Hermione Granger."

"Oh come on, Draco." He said. "You can tell me. It's not your fault if she's a troll, you didn't exactly get to pick, did you? Wait, is she a troll?"

"I'm telling you the truth," he said irritably. "I'm marrying Hermione Granger. Tomorrow."

Blaise's eyebrows threatened to disappear in his hairline.

"No," he said, dumbstruck. "You're not serious. Don't have me on like that Draco," he said with a barking laugh. "Can you imagine if that were true?" More laughter. "It would be a disaster! The press would hound you for-"

"Shut it Blaise!" he finally snapped. "Do you think I don't know that press is going to have a field day with this!"

Blaise stopped laughing almost instantly.

"Blimey," he said into his drink. "You're not joking."

Draco said nothing, which obviously confirmed Blaise's question, for he started laughing again. It started out a chuckle and then morphed into a heaving laughter. This time he pounded his fist on the wooden table top, tears threatening to escape his eyes.

"Potter's mudblood friend!" he exclaimed. "Oh, poetic equality!"

Draco was supremely irritated.

Blaise continued laughing so loudly that the waitress leaned out of the kitchen curiously.

"Are you finished yet?" he hissed at his friend.

Blaise wiped tears of mirth from his eyes before sobering up.

"Ah, Draco." He said, obviously trying to contain himself. "Well, it could be worse I suppose. It could have Millicent," he mock-shuddered. "I understand some poor bloke was actually thrown in the clink for refusing to take her on. Can you imagine?"

"I assume you don't have yours yet?"

"No," Blaise took a sip of a red drink with a celery stalk sticking out of it. "But it's only a matter of time, and by then all of the pretty ones will be taken. Heaven hope Millicent is snatched up by then."

"Her younger sister was on my list," Draco admitted.

"Ughh," Blaise said, making a gagging sound. "Well at least Granger is decent looking. Gotten any action from her yet?"

"What do you think?" Draco mumbled ruefully. "I half expected her to incinerate me on sight."

"Well do let me know how it goes," Blaise mused. "I used to fantasize about bending her over in the stacks."

"You're a pig, Blaise. A mudblood?"

"Hey mate, just being honest; Hermione Granger is a little treat. But you're the one marrying her," he said with a wink.

X X X X X X X X X X X X

Number Twelve Grimuald Place had undergone some necessary remodeling since Hermione had last been there. The portrait of Mrs. Black had apparently been incinerated by a lucky shot of one of the George's newest inventions, to the immense relief of Harry and Ginny. Appearantly Kreature was still sore about his Mistress's painting being set aflame though. The foyer looked more homey than Hermione had ever seen it though.

"Can Kreature take Miss Mud- Granger's cloak?"

"Hermione!" Ginny came waddling down the stairs, supporting her lower back with one hand and clutching the banister with a radiant smile. "I can't believe you're in town! You could have given me more notice, I would have made up a room for you so you don't have to stay in that empty house!"

Hermione gave her an awkward hug to accommodate her swelling abdomen.

"Tea Kreature," she said pointedly at the elf. "He's such a miserable little git," she said under her breath.

Hermione's natural instinct was to launch into her pitch for elf rights and the conditions under witch they were bred for the benefits of wizards, but kept her opinions to herself. Ginny was heavily pregnant and most likely largely governed by her hormones. Anyway, Hermione was too tired to defend house elves, and Ginny was right; Kreature was sort of a miserable git.

"Take your cloak off and stay awhile, you're soaked!" she beamed.

Hermione did as she bid and followed her into the drawing room. The horrible moth eaten curtains she remembered were gone and in there place were lace curtains that she thought she recognized from the Burrow. The Black Family tapestry was also gone, and in its place was a family tree that included the Weasley's, the Potter's, the Lovegood's and the Peverell's and how they were all interconnected. Hermione was sure it cost a chunk of gold to have made.

"That's brilliant," she said. "How did you get the Black Family Tree down? I thought there was a permanent sticking charm attached to it."

"There was," Ginny said, flopping down on the sofa. "I think Dad actually managed to get it down with George's help. I don't know how they did it, but I'm not complaining either. It was an awful sight when we had company."

Kreature brought in the tea and left quickly, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "dirty." Ginny glared at his retreating back and looked as if she were going to call him out, but Hermione chose to tactfully change the subject.

"Where's Harry?" she asked. "At the Ministry?"

"No, he's in Germany on a mission," Ginny said. "It's all supposed to be very hush hush," she winked. "I expect him back tonight."

"Ah, I see," Hermione said, looking around.

She had been prepared to call Harry out as the shittiest friend in all of history, but not to malign him to his wife, even if it were justified. She felt slightly foolish and deflated now, and not sure how to broach the subject of her impending nuptials. She need not have worried though, be it heightened senses due to pregnancy or Molly Weasley's genes, Ginny was keen to this sort of thing.

"So what brings you to town?" she asked, sipping her orange tea. "Heard about that awful law?"

Hermione nodded silently, not making eye contact with her friend.

"NO!" Ginny said, aghast. "I can't believe it! They've summoned you, or you've been petitioned for?"

"The latter," Hermione sighed, resting her head in her hands.

"When? Who? I want to know EVERYTHING!"

"Tomorrow, at nine am," Hermione said, defeated. "I just can't believe they could do this? How long has this been going on?"

"Well," she began. "Apparently it's been being pushed in the Ministry for some time now, but the lid was blown off of it a few months ago. Seamus Finnigan is in Azkaban," she said soberly. "I guess he went instead of marrying a Slytherin girl that's still in school."

"It's affecting students?" Hermione asked, stunned. "They can't do that!"

Hermione was shocked. She never expected in her wildest imaginings that they would force student's to marry. It was beyond what they were doing to the adults, it was completely reprehensible.

"I wish I were," Ginny said. "I couldn't believe it either. Harry is trying to use his influence in the Ministry to get Seamus released, but he's never been very good with politics."

"Oh, Harry." She said fondly.

"So," Ginny said with a twinkle. "Tell me who you're marrying! Is it anyone we know?"

Hermione sighed heavily. This wouldn't go well, but she couldn't keep it a secret, she was marrying him tomorrow. Ginny would be hurt if she had to read it in the papers.

"Draco Malfoy," she said acidly.

Ginny looked bemusedly at her for a second, as though expecting her to correct what was obviously a joke. But when Hermione's face took on a pained expression Ginny's took on a look of horror.

"NO!" she gasped.

Hermione nodded ruefully.

"NO!" she repeated. "I don't believe it! Oh Hermione, are you okay?"

Hermione threw her hands up half-heartedly into the air. Was she okay? She had barely asked herself such a question.

"Didn't you have any other offers?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she said. "But I've been abroad, so who knows? I suppose someone could have petitioned for me, and I would have never known about it."

"It should have been Charlie, or George, or even Percy" Ginny moaned. "Not Malfoy. They aren't attached yet."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said resignedly. "It's done. We registered this morning and are set to marry tomorrow."

"Harry's going to have a fit," Ginny said, rubbing her belly with a look of discomfort. "Sorry, just a cramp," she explained.

"I'm sure," Hermione mumbled into her tea.

"What do you mean? My cramps?"

Hermione hesitated. She didn't come here to upset Ginny, but she was still so irked with Harry.

"No, nothing," Hermione said quickly. "You know how they never got on."

"Yeah," she said. "But his family had that ball, and they've even run into each other a couple of times before Malfoy's parents died, and they were civil to each other at least."

"Were they?" Hermione asked. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, they have a grudging respect for each other, or something like that. But," she added "that might be null and void once he finds out that he's marrying you."

Hermione would call Harry out in person, not tattle on him to his wife.

"How did they die? The Malfoy's, I mean," she said, changing the subject.

"It happened after you left for Greece," she said. "I'm not sure I can remember all of the specifics, Harry wasn't assigned to their case, but I think they were wacked off."

"Murdered?" she asked, a little alarmed. "By who?"

"I don't think they were ever caught," Ginny said, as she held her side again and winced. "But they think it was a Death Eater that the Malfoy's implicated and escaped capture. Maybe Greyback, who knows?"

"Wonderful," Hermione said. "There's a lunatic after the family that I'm about to marry into."

"You're a target on your own, and the brightest witch of your age," she said with a wink. "So tell me," she said solicitously. "Have you and Malfoy. . . ?"

"NO!" Hermione choked out on a sip of tea. "And I'm dreading it," she shivered.

Ginny looked thoughtful.

"I don't know," she said. "He's attractive enough, for a git."

Hermione was surprised; the only group of people Malfoy hated more than muggles and muggle borns were the Weasley's.

"That's not exactly enough to get me into bed," Hermione said dourly.

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon explaining the legistics of the law, she had bee reading up on it on and off all day, and telling Ginny the nitty gritty about what was required of her and Draco in their "marriage." Even if Ginny had a lingering attraction to Malfoy, she was thoroughly disgusted by the requirements set upon her. Hermione then changed the subject to the baby, which Ginny was happy to talk about until Hermione felt dizzy.

Harry didn't come back while they were having tea, which was probably a good thing. Hermione didn't want to confront him tonight; she was exhausted from the last two days. So bushed that she left Number Twelve shortly after tea was done and promised to call again soon.

The house was dark when she came home, and it made Hermione's heart ache to feel so alone. At least with Malfoy she wouldn't have to come home to a dark lonely house. _Well there's a bleak thought,_ she thought disgustedly.

She hung the clothes she had bought in Madam Malkin's and in muggle London to wear the next day, and collapsed on the bed with a pint of rocky road. An old movie, a musical, was playing on cable so Hermione settled for that and fell asleep thinking about the next day. Hermione felt the dreaded chill of foreboding and fell into another fitful sleep. Tomorrow she would marry Draco Malfoy; she would be forever called Mrs. Malfoy.


End file.
